


love, jemma

by Rozjozbrod



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Light Angst, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 12:29:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rozjozbrod/pseuds/Rozjozbrod
Summary: the love, rosie AU that you didn't know you'd been missing





	1. Chapter 1

19:43, November 23rd

Autumn light stretched lazily through the trees behind her dorm building, setting the entire street alight with a faint golden halo. The neighborhood was a postcard; multicolored trees lined the city streets, lit softly by the dying sunlight. People rode past on bicycles and walked their dogs, chatted amicably in driveways and cooked with their windows open. It was the kind of night where you could believe in miracles; the kind of night where peace didn’t seem so far from reach. 

But it was colder than it looked. The rooftop where she sat had no cover from the brisk wind that whipped her hair around, and the birds-eye view of the city was somewhat lonely. Skin erupting in goosebumps, she tightened her grip on the mug of tea in her hands, even though the warmth had long since leached out of it. Her body was stiff with the strain of sitting on the concrete wall for so long, yet she made no effort to move. 

She had been eighteen for less than a day, and already felt decades older than she had been before. Though her head pounded with a residual hangover and her legs ached from where she had danced the night away, her broken heart throbbed with him and him and him, leaving no room for anything else. The best friendship she’d ever known was over and it was her fault. All of it. 

____

2:04, November 23rd

Music pounded in her ears and she screamed, lifting her hands into the air and spinning unashamedly. The party was packed, and the floor was slick with spilled beer and cocktails. But she danced without a care in the world, and the only coherent thought that formed in her buzzed mind was that eighteen was leagues better than seventeen already.

“Here you go!” A voice called from behind her, and she turned to see him pushing past the crowd, a shot in each hand. 

“Fitz,” She sighed, smiling. “I don’t know, I’m already pretty tipsy.”

“Those are quitting words.” He nudged her with his elbow, trying not to spill the drinks. “Are you a quitter, Simmons?”

Straightening indignantly, she said confidently, “Appealing to my competitive streak, are you? Very clever, Fitz. But, I’m onto you. You’ll have to try another tactic if you want me to drink. My blood alcohol level is way over-”

“Yeah, but it’s on me.” He handed her the shot. “And it’s your birthday.”

She tried to scowl at him, but her cheeks were too tight from smiling. “Fine. Your argument has merit, I suppose..”

“I win?” He asked, mocking surprise. He turned and stood stock straight, like a politician. “Inebriated students of Shield Academy,” he announced proudly, “let the records show that on this day, the twenty-third of November in the wee hours of the morning, Jemma Simmons conceded-”

“Fiiitz!” She rolled her eyes. “Too much talking. Not enough drinking. On three, yeah? One, two-”

“Three!” He finished for her, knocking back the clear liquid and squeezing his eyes shut.

It burned as it went down, and she pursed her lips as the taste passed. She looked at Fitz, and his face was flushed with alcohol and good times, just like hers. They smiled identical mischievous smiles, then both of them leaned their heads back and cheered, their voices joining the clamor. They sounded like wolves and Jemma thought that she had never made such a fool of herself before; nor had such fun.

“Come on, dance with me.” He said, after they had stopped giggling. He grabbed her hand and started weaving in between their drunken peers.

“You’ll step on my feet.” She whined, following him anyway. She bumped shoulders with someone and felt beer splash through her shoes. She barely noticed; she was only watching him as he led her deeper into the mosh pit. 

“I’ll have you know, I’m an incredible dancer.” He told her, yelling over the loud noise as they neared the speakers.

“What?” She yelled back.

“I said, I’m an incredible dancer!” He called back to her.

She laughed and he turned to face her, dropping her hand. It was then that he started dancing, though it was extremely generous to even call it that. Lanky limbs wiggled in all sorts of awkward directions, and people cleared a space for him so as not to be knocked out. His movements were off-beat and dorky, but he danced with an all-encompassing joy that was completely infectious. She smiled brightly, watching him, and clapped her hands. 

“You look absolutely ridiculous!” She told him, gleefully.

“I look better than you! Standing there like a statue-” He countered, moving his hands like he was wrangling her with a lasso and pulling her closer. “You’re supposed to dance with me, Simmons-”

“I’d much rather watch you make a fool of yourself.” She giggled. “Please, continue.”

“I take offence to that.” He frowned playfully. “And I shall now attempt to prove you wrong.”

Attempt was the key word, she thought. As she watched, he pulled out all of his silliest dance moves, making determined eye contact with her and dancing ever-closer. It was only when he attempted to do the ‘disco finger’ that her valiant effort at a straight face crumbled and she laughed out loud, clapping her hands over her mouth and closing her eyes with mirth.

“There she is.” He smiled, extending a hand. “Come on.” 

She took it and they proceeded to dance like not a single person was watching until their legs ached and their cheeks were red and tired of smiling. They sang along to the songs they knew and they laughed along to the ones they didn’t, screaming with excitement when the bass was loudest. Dancing together, the crowded room faded to just her and her best friend, both enthusiastically having the time of their lives. Friendship with Fitz brought out her wild side; she’d never allowed herself to be so carefree in front of anyone else before. She wanted to keep on forever, but soon her feet couldn’t hold her weight any longer, and slightly dizzy, Jemma pulled Fitz by the hand back to the bar stools and pushed another shot in front of him and pulled another in front of herself. “Drink.” She told him, taking the glass in her hand. 

“Maybe you should switch to water for a while.” He reasoned. “There’s significant research that supports-”

“Now you’re trying to be a good influence?” She said, incredulously.

He raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll drink, but only because I’m a Scot, and my alcohol tolerance supersedes yours tenfold-”

“Fiiiitz-”

“Fine!” Raising his glass in front of him, he grinned. 

In the far back of her mind, she knew she shouldn’t. She was already warm with alcohol and feeling the effects of the last few shots. She was small and scarcely eighteen; she would already be feeling this night’s toll on her body come morning. But her best friend’s eyes were sparkling and his hair was messy and his shirt was unbuttoned, and the sight sent a warm spike up her spine. She raised her glass in front of herself, mirroring him. “I’m might regret this one.” She told him.

He mirrored her. “Regrets are for losers.”

They clinked their glasses together and drank. The taste wasn’t as bad as before and she barely winced. Fitz shook his head to clear the rush, and his eyes found hers again. He sighed contently, running his hand through his unruly curls.“Happy birthday, Jemma.” 

“Yes.” She nodded. “Happy birthday, Jemma.”

He grinned at her then, a smile that lit his whole face up and lightened all of his features. It was nice, she thought suddenly, seeing him like this. On most days, Fitz had a tendency and proclivity for stress, especially when it came to school. But now, his whole body was relaxed and he glowed with an infectious energy. It made her heart swell in a way that wasn’t so unfamiliar, but for one reason or another, she didn’t attempt to quell the feeling as she had before. She shifted her weight on her stool and leaned closer to him. “Thank you for tonight.” 

He grinned. “Technically it’s morning, but I’ll accept it.”

“I mean it, Fitz.” Her voice was sincere, no trace of sarcasm. “Thank you.”

His eyes softened and he leaned over to put his hand on hers. They were warm and she felt a tingle ignite in her body. “You’re welcome. It's my pleasure, really.”

Without thinking, she placed her free hand on top of his and squeezed it lightly, running her thumb lightly up the inside of his wrist. At his soft intake of breath, Jemma flushed, realizing that they had never touched quite so intimately before. Her heart fluttered at the feeling, and she chanced a glance up at him to gauge his reaction to their touch. 

His expression had become rather slack, his eyes transfixed on their hands. Then, he let out a shuddering breath, almost like he was nervous. She could tell his mind was going a million miles an hour, but it’s intricacies were foreign to her for the first time. After a moment, she spoke. “What are you thinking about?” Her voice was barely audible over the party raging in the background.

“You.” He responded quietly, his eyes flicking up to hers. 

“What about me?” She asked, surprised yet starving for the answer.

In an answer, his gaze dropped to her lips. A sudden realization of his intentions spiked in her chest, and the air around them thickened at the thought. She had never felt anything so intense: the desire to feel his lips on hers and their heartbeats racing in time with one another. It was as if she could feel the rungs of electricity spiraling up her arms as his gravity ensnared her and pulled her closer. The image was catching, and the alcohol pounding through her veins did little to stop the surge of adrenaline he gave her. Slowly, so as not to lose their nerve, they moved closer to one another. He was so close she could count the light splattering of freckles on his cheeks. Their foreheads touched and his lips ghosted over hers, his nose grazing hers as he tilted his head for a better angle.

“Fitz,” She breathed, knowing that they were occupying a space far too close for best friends but not wanting to be the one to pull away. 

But then his lips were on hers and all plans for a platonic reconciliation were thrown unceremoniously out the window. His lips were firm and insistent, and seconds later he pulled back, closing his eyes in shame. “Sorry.” He whispered. “I’m sorry-”

Slowly, and without conscious thought, her fingers rose to his face and traced the line of his lips with the pad of her thumb. He seemed transfixed. She took that as tacit permission to touch him the way she was aching to. Hands sliding down his neck and smoothing along his shoulders, she could feel his heart racing beneath his skin. She leaned into him so that they were millimeters apart, and watched his lips open in anticipation with her half lidded eyes. This time, when their lips met, she was ready. She kissed him gently and took her time, varying the pressure and slide of their lips. He tasted like tequila and lime, and he kissed her back with a single-minded passion that left her breathless in his wake. 

She wanted this, she realized faintly, as their breath mingled and hearts pounded. This wasn't some alcohol-induced accident; she wanted him and all that he entailed. The realization thrilled her, and his steady kisses only emboldened her further. 

Hand sliding down his chest and grabbing the fabric of his shirt, she sighed against his lips. He responded eagerly, twisting his fingers in her hair and slanting her lips with his own, while sliding his tongue along the seam of them. She thought that her whole body might overflow with light if they kept on like this. It was sensory overload; every move he made filled her body to the brim, and she could scarcely catch her breath. He was kissing her like she was the main event, like she was deserving of every love song and poem, and part of her was surprised, the part that could form a coherent thought, that Fitz was kissing her like this. She’d never have assumed that the feeling of his tongue on hers would thrill her the way it was, never assumed that the slide of their lips would feel so natural. He pulled away, and she chased his lips, but he leaned into her neck and began to press hot, open-mouthed kisses on her pulse point. She hummed, her head spinning and her body tingling straight down to her toes. It was only when she leaned her head to give him more access that she felt herself tipping from the chair, unbalanced. 

She hit the ground with a thud, and everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> miscommunication is a bitch ;)

14:13, November 23rd

“Ugh.” She groaned.

She lay on her bed, head pounding, throat tasting like sandpaper, and body slick with cold sweat. The bright afternoon light from her dorm window was unobstructed by her thin white curtains, and the whole room glowed with the unwelcome white light. She threw a pillow over her eyes to block the sight, cursing the naive decision she’d made as an incoming freshman to decorate her dorm room the way she had. Everything was bright colors; her white sheets were dotted with little pink flowers, and the posters taped to her wall were consistent with her color scheme. But opening her eyes even a fraction made her eyelids hurt, so she closed them again with a groan louder than the last. The whole night was a blur; she wasn't even sure how she'd gotten back to her room. 

There was a tap on her door, and she heard it swing open. “Hey, Jemma.”

She recognized the Scottish lilt and grumbled into her pillow. “Uggh.”

She felt the bed squeak as he sat at her feet, then the corner of the pillow was pulled up. She squinted at the corner of his face that she could see, head throbbing. “You look shit.” He told her. 

“What a coincidence. I feel shit.” She responded, pulling the pillow back from his grip. 

“I brought you some water.” He said. 

She sat up ungracefully and gratefully accepted the bottle of water that he pressed into her hands. He was wearing a simple blue button-up, and his hair was a mess of blond curls. His eyes were ringed with dark circles like he hadn't slept. Nevertheless, he looked quite handsome and she suppressed the thought by taking a large gulp of water.

“You gave me quite a scare, passing out like that.” He told her as she sipped. He smiled as he said it, but there was a fragility in his gaze that made it clear that he had been legitimately worried for her. His unwavering care about her wellbeing made her chest flood with warmth, and she took another sip to hide the flush that threatened to creep up her cheeks.

“Maybe next time we’ll go a little easier on the tequila.” He joked, easily. 

“Maybe next time we’ll skip it entirely.” She said, finding her voice and shaking her head. “Honestly, Fitz, I don't even want to talk about last night.”

A moment passed before he spoke, and he shifted his weight on the bed. “Like, uh, which part?”

“All of it.” She said immediately. 

“So, just to clarify, you're saying that there’s nothing about last night worth-” He began.

“Nothing. Fitz, I’m so embarrassed I can’t even look at you-”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.” He interrupted. “I mean, it was my fault-”

She scoffed and his mutterings subsided into silence. Finishing her water, she leaned back on her pillows and looked around her room. The whiteboard that hung on her closet door listed the homework that she had to complete before the next day, color-coded and excruciatingly detailed. When Fitz had come to fetch her the previous night, she hadn’t yet finished her tasks for the day. That meant, she realized with a jolt, that she had to do the previous day’s work in addition to the work she had scheduled for that afternoon. This, coupled with the pounding of her head, made her cover her forehead and sigh.

“Oh, Fitz, I should never have gone out with you last night.” She told him, eyes scanning the impressive list. “I can’t afford to get distracted-”

“Okay, I think you’ve made your point, you don’t have to rub it in. It won’t happen again.” He said, his ears turning red. “I mean, I thought it was pretty good-”

“Good? You’re joking.” She rolled her eyes, incredulous. “Fitz, it was the worst. Literally the worst ever. I can’t believe we-”

“Right.” He stood up from the bed and brushed off his hands. His voice was cold. “Well, I think I’ll get out of here, then. Lots of studying to do.”

Jemma frowned, confused. Sundays were the days that they always spent side by side; they were her favorite days for that reason.“What happened to studying together? Don’t you-”

“No, I’m going to go.” He told her shortly, not meeting her eyes. His hands fiddled with the buttons on his jacket.

“Okay.” She agreed, unsure as to why he had suddenly put up a wall between them. “See you later?”

He nodded, but said nothing. A moment later, he was gone; he left the room without a backwards glance and then shut the door softly behind him, leaving Jemma with a sinking feeling in her stomach. She shifted beneath her sheets and wondered what it was that she’d said that had made him leave. 

Without Fitz, the rest of the day passed slowly. When she was finally strong enough to push herself from bed and into the shower, she emptied the contents of her stomach in the drain, and felt much better after all the alcohol was out of her system. It was only when she wiped the condensation from the mirror, towel wrapped under her arm, that she spotted the purple mark on her neck.

“What the-” She gasped, touching it with the pad of her finger. 

Foolishness wasn’t one of Jemma’s traits; it wasn’t a burn from a curling iron, nor a skin irritation. It was a love bite, still tender from the previous night. And everything clicked into place when she found she knew who had given it to her. 

_______

16:25, November 23rd

She sat cross-legged on her bed, fresh from her shower, looking at her phone like it was about to sprout fangs. She was being ridiculous, and she knew it, but the idea of having a conversation with her best friend about the love bite he’d given her was enough to make her want to burrow back into her blankets and never see the light of day again. 

“Just do it, Jemma.” She whispered to herself. “Man up and call him.”

But it was easier said than done. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what he was doing at that moment. Was he sitting in his dorm room, thinking about her? Or was he studying, all memories of their kiss behind him? Who would they become now that they had kissed, and not only kissed, but kissed one another so passionately that it left marks on her skin? Who would they become if she acknowledged it? Who would they be if she didn’t? Come class on Monday, they would surely enter into an unspoken agreement never to discuss the night ever again. Life would, for all intensive purposes, go on the way it had for the last two years at the Academy; she would be ever by his side, prodding him in the direction of the intellectually curious while making jokes at his expense. After a few years, they could look back on this moment and laugh, without their chests feeling tight with words they couldn’t get out of their mouths as teenagers.

But her heart sank as the possibility washed over her. She didn’t want that. Being his friend brought joy into her life, a joy so wondrous that she scarcely had the words to describe it. But being unequivocally his had the potential to unravel her from the inside, and shine a light into her soul. She imagined a domestic morning with Fitz; one where she was curled up against him. She would kiss the underside of his jaw and they would lace their fingers together, their hands rising and falling with his breathing. She imagined walking along the streets with his hand in hers, and his lips pressing easy kisses against her hairline. Suddenly she was terrified that it would never happen.

“Ok.” She told herself, steeling her courage. “Here goes.”

Her finger pressed the button and she brought the phone shakily to her ear. She worried for a moment what she would say if he picked up. Seconds stretched together as she waited for his voice on the other line. Then something clicked.

“Hey-”

“Fitz, I have to talk to you. I’m so sorry for-” She began, a bit desperately.

“-you’ve reached Fitz. Unfortunately, I can’t come to the phone right now-”

 

She closed her eyes, and disconnected the call. She tried once more, but again she reached his voicemail. Dialing a final time, her heart sank. He was ignoring her.

In the quiet of her room, she allowed herself to consider a third option; not one of domesticity or delayed friendship, but one more terrible than the last. That her life would have to continue on its trajectory without him. Perhaps the damage she’d done was irreparable, and would form a chasm between them so deep that it could never be crossed again. Tears rose in her eyes and for the second time that day, she thought she might be sick. She had existed peacefully in a world without Fitz for sixteen years, but now that she’d found him, she knew there was too much of him inside of her to ever know herself without him again. 

She wiped a tear from her eye and rose from her bed, pulling on a jacket. If he wouldn’t answer his phone, then he would have to answer his door. They were going to have a conversation whether he wanted to or not.

_______

16:45, October 23rd

She rapped her knuckles on the door to his dorm and waited for it to open. Pop music wafted through the open door to the rec room, and she could hear the tapping of a ping pong ball on a table, but the hallway was blissfully empty. Good, she thought. She didn’t want to make a scene. But seconds stretched to minutes and, tapping her foot impatiently, she knocked again. She ignored that the nameplate was written in her own handwriting. Had their lives always been so intertwined? There was light coming from between the cracks of the door, and she rolled her eyes, knowing that he was inside. “Fitz? We need to talk.”

There was no response. She sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Fitz, come on. I know you’re in there, I can smell popcorn.”

She waited only a moment before the door clicked and swung open to reveal him. He was wearing the same clothes that he had been that morning, but his eyes were puffy and his hair was messier. He fiddled with the door hinge, and looked at his shoes. 

“I called you.” She told him.

“I know.” He answered. His voice was impossibly quiet, and he scratched at the light stubble on his cheeks. 

“You didn’t answer.”

“I know.” He said again.

“Why are you ignoring me?” She asked, hating how desperate she sounded.

“You know why.” He looked up at her, and his eyes were startlingly blue. 

“I don’t, actually.” She responded. “You haven’t spoken to me all day-”

“I kissed you and you said it was the worst night ever and that you wished you’d never gone out with me-” He stuttered, meeting her eyes for the first time.

“Fitz, I didn’t mean anything-”

“Well, it meant something to me.” He said. His shoulders slumped with exhaustion and his voice was shaky. “I’ve been working up the courage to ask you on a date for weeks. And every time I got close, I would freeze up. And then we kissed and-”

“Fitz, please-”

“-and you said it was nothing to you. Nothing.” He closed his eyes. “I know you want to talk and put it all behind us, but I don’t think I can, Jemma.”

Physically speaking, she knew that hearts didn’t break. After all, humans were just miniscule beings of flesh and sinew floating through space, growing and fading and dying. Every feeling was just a spike in chemicals in their brains, and every emotion just a release of hormones according to environmental stimuli. Yet, in spite of all that, she felt her heart break in her chest. Her eyes filled with tears. “Fitz-”

“I think you should go.” He told her, wiping his eyes with shaking hands. “I can’t, uh, I can’t-”

“Leo-”

He squeezed his eyes shut and closed the door, leaving her in the hallway with tears streaming down her face and a million unspoken words on her tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

19:43, October 23rd

The beautiful day faded into a beautiful night, and Jemma sat on the roof shivering with no intention of moving. Her finger traced the hickey on her neck and she closed her eyes and tried to remember what kissing Fitz had felt like. But instead, all she could see was his face as his heart fractured in front of her. Because of her. 

She didn’t want that to be her final image of Fitz. Fitz, her best friend and the boy who got overexcited about monkeys and physics, who had seen every Doctor Who episode and managed like none other to calm her and support her, deserved a better send off than that. She took her phone out of her pocket, and scrolled through her pictures to find something that better suited him. 

In between pictures of her homework and lab experiments, her camera roll was dotted with selfies that they’d taken together, a few pictures of them in Scotland during the previous winter break, and several blurry pictures of him asleep on his desk in class. She smiled sadly as she looked at them. It was then that she found her favorite: a simple picture of Fitz that she’d taken across the lab table. He was wearing lab goggles and a bright shirt under his lab coat, holding a collapsable metal radio transceiver in front of him. It was so Fitz; it captured so much of his essence that she felt her breath catch. In the photo, he was working intently, but there was a slight smile playing on his lips as he puzzled the problem in front of him. She could almost hear his voice in her mind, telling her to put the phone down so he could concentrate. She’d loved him then, she realized. Just as she loved him now and he hadn’t told him. 

Fingers fumbling with the numbers on the phone screen, she dialed his number again. He might delete the message as soon as he received it, but she couldn’t live knowing that their friendship was over and she’d never even gotten the words out. The phone rang in her ear and her hands shook. As predicted, she got his voicemail, but this time she didn’t hang up.

“Hey this is Fitz. Unfortunately I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave your message at the beep!” His voice was cheery: not at all like the nervous boy who had answered the door earlier that day. 

The tone beeped. It was now or never. “Fitz, hi. It’s me.” She closed her eyes, wincing at how silly she sounded. “I know you’re mad at me, and I don’t blame you. You put yourself out there and I let you down. But please, please, know that I never meant to hurt you.”

She took a breath. As she spoke, the words got easier. “You were right. I can’t hold my drink. And that's why I don’t remember kissing you. I wish I did, Fitz, but I don’t. What I do remember from last night is pretty fuzzy, honestly. But I do know what I feel for you. And it’s strong and I’m scared that I ruined any chance that I had to be with you, as a friend or even as more, because now you won’t talk to me.”

She let the confession sit for a moment, and she looked out over the peaceful neighborhood. “I wish you would talk to me, Fitz. You’re my best friend in the world, and if you want to forget this whole thing, we can. But, if you want . . . we can try again. This time, without tequila. I promise I’ll never forget it.”

She’d finished her speech, and she shivered in the wind. She adjusted her grip on the phone, and tried to mask the chattering of her teeth. “Anyway, if you get this message, you know where to find me.”

She hung up, heart pounding, and watched as the first evening stars blinked into existence. 

________

19:53, October 23rd.

The wind ripped through her jacket, and her body shook with cold. The light was fading and all across the neighborhood people were turning on their lights and settling down for the evening. Jemma sniffed, wiping her nose on the back of her hand and pushed her hair from her eyes. She didn’t know how much longer she could wait for him. 

But soon she heard the big metal door to the roof open, and she turned to see Fitz stumbling to hold the weight of the door and not drop the blanket he was carrying. 

She smiled and her eyes welled up with tears at the sight. He was by her side in a second, rushing to wrap the blanket around her shoulders. “You must be freezing, Jemma. What were you thinking, coming up here-”

“This is where we met.” She looked up at him, and his hands slowed their fussing around her shoulders. He slid to sit beside her, and she watched him through the strands of hair that blew past her eyes. 

“Yeah, it is.” He said softly. His eyes took a faraway look as the memories they had made that night washed over him. Then he shook his head. “Jemma, I’m here to apologize.” His voice was thick. 

“Apologize?” She asked, confused. “Whatever for?”

“I, uh, didn’t realize- well, I didn’t, I mean- I only realized now that you’d forgotten.” He stuttered, blushing furiously. “When you said all those things this morning, I thought you meant me.”

“Oh, Fitz.” She sighed, smiling. “I meant that I was miserably hungover.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that now.” He blushed. “What clued you in?”

“Other than the way you were acting?” She asked, lightly. “This.”

She leaned her head, and brushed her hair over her shoulder. The purplish mark was still visible, and she watched as Fitz’s ears reddened. He let out a soft chuckle and looked at the ground. “Didn’t mean to leave a mark.” He said, sounding only slightly embarrassed. 

“I’m glad you did. Otherwise, who knows how long it would have taken me to figure out.” She told him. They sat in companionable silence for a moment, then she spoke again. “You listened to my voicemail.”

“Mmhm.” He nodded. 

“What do you think we should do about it?” She asked.

He let out a long breath, and she glanced over to him. The last rays of sunlight slanted through his eyelashes and he looked like a painting. Overwhelming affection rushed through her body, and she reached over and grasped his hand. He looked back to her, his eyes warm and full of light, and smiled. “Are you sure you’ll remember this time?” He asked.

Her heart leapt and she smiled. “Yes.”

“Good.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “Then, I think . . . we should-”

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his and she could feel him smile beneath their kiss. She ran her hands along his jawline, kissing him with all that she had. He kissed her back, and it was a soft beginning to what was sure to be the first of many memorable moments by his side.

When they broke apart, his face was flushed and his lips were pink. “Hey, Jemma?” He asked, eyes twinkling.

“Yeah?”

He grinned. “Happy birthday.”

She smiled and he kissed her again, and she flashed back to her first coherent thought of the day; that eighteen was leagues better than seventeen already. Not a bad assessment, she noted, as she kissed her best friend in the fading sunlight. Not bad at all.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are always appreciated! Thanks for reading!


End file.
